


only ever ruin someone like you mean it

by beautifullies



Category: Leverage
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, OT3, PWP, Power Dynamics, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 01:35:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3750037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifullies/pseuds/beautifullies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Parker loves getting her way, Eliot's the world's subbiest sub, and Hardison's baffled and delighted by how his life worked out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	only ever ruin someone like you mean it

Alec is all litheness, cool in places she wouldn’t expect. When Parker leans into him he always gives a little, rocking back as he takes her weight. 

His body is shaped like the kind of sculptures that are too big to steal. She can wrap her arms all the way around his waist, and she does—he  _feels_  like he’s beautiful, with her eyes closed she still knows that he’s beautiful, all those smooth planes and gentle inflection points where his lines meet. The kind of beautiful that’s real and human, all those improbably beautiful parts assembled into one body like it’s no big deal. She runs her hands over his close-cropped hair, down the back of his neck, gently, like she’s carving him out of clay. He wears soft, expensive fabrics and he smells amazing, like it’s intentional. Parker has to stand on her toes to kiss him. He’s a confident, responsive kisser, and he can’t kiss her without smiling a little, so even when his mouth is busy there’s a crinkle at the corner of his eyes.

He listens to Parker's body with all of that incredible focus until he knows how to crack her in two minutes flat. Then he doesn’t—he takes his time, slow and gentle, and he watches her the whole time with that half-smile dancing around his dark, dark eyes. She loves his long clever fingers on her skin or twisting and fluttering deep inside her. She loves the way he always shudders with his whole body when he pushes into her, how she wraps her ankles around his shoulders and he’s amazed every time. He always kisses her, then, like he can’t help it.

Eliot’s body is different. His whole way of existing in space is different. He’s intensely warm, all the time, radiating through his clothes. He only ever smells like soap and warm skin, and sometimes like sweat and blood. Parker finds herself interacting with his body differently than Alec’s, she presses her hands against the solid planes of his shoulders and gives him her weight rather than trying to snake her arms around him. She bumps up against him more roughly because she knows he’ll take it. His body doesn’t look like art; it’s architecture, something that survived the bombs. There’s a sense of stability to him even when he yields to her a little, like ballast, like he’ll always come back. 

The first time Eliot kissed her—well, the first time he'd tried, he had stalled out with a hand barely touching her jaw. His thumb had been shaking a little, like he was concentrating too hard on a lock. Alec had whispered, “Go on, man,” and she could hear the matching tremor in his voice. She’d reached behind her back for Alec's hand, and and together they had watched all of Eliot’s studied suaveness crumble to pieces. Suddenly it wasn’t a con anymore, the con had been blown a long time ago, so Parker had leaned in to Eliot’s space and kissed him, a little hitch in her breath, until his lips parted for her. She didn’t have to tilt her head up. In the end, Eliot never quite recovered that smooth confidence. He still kisses them both like he cares too much, like he's about to come apart at the seams. 

Eliot doesn’t usually close his eyes when they card their fingers through his hair, but there’s some almost imperceptible change in the tension of his body, and sometimes Parker ruffles it when she has to step away just for the exasperated expression in his eyes as he straightens it again. In bed she grabs big handfuls against his scalp and uses it to lead him towards Alec, or sometimes just to pull, hard and sharp, to bare his throat and draw out a gasp, to earn that look in his eyes as he focuses on her face. 

Eliot lets a little smile slip out more often these days, in public too, like he’s stopped trying so hard to hide it. Parker loves to watch him watch Alec, and vice versa; she knows for a fact they both look at her that way when she’s got her back turned. Sometimes, when a fight goes well, when it’s just enough of a challenge, Alec will crowd Eliot against the wall while his heart’s still going fast and his eyes are a little wild. Parker will cross her arms with a little flickering smile to watch as they kiss, and Alec will turn to her afterwards with a grin, one eyebrow raised, like he can't believe he gets to do that. She wonders which of her own masks are going.

She's has always been assertive in bed, and Alec’s delighted by her enthusiasm, he was eager and adaptable from the very first. With Eliot it's a little different—what's incidental and what's the point. She kneels over him so that her knees tug painfully on his hair as she grinds down against his mouth, and he lets her take whatever she wants. Alec brushes her white-blonde hair out of her face so gently and watches them both with that smile dancing around his lips. Her boys know how to read her body by now, she trained them long ago in the cold light of day, so they know exactly when soft and careful stops feeling good. She can feel the calluses on Eliot’s knuckles when he pushes two fingers inside of her, rough and fast, scratching the itch as he puts his mouth on her again and she clenches down around him. She doesn’t have to look down; she knows he’s smirking a little.

Parker comes again later, too, her own fingers at work, when Eliot has Alec’s cock down his throat. Alec is murmuring nonsense at the ceiling, eyes closed, the smooth, dark line of his throat taut, and Eliot looks like he’s made for it, he’s got spit running down his chin and he’s half choking. Alec’s hands are gripping the damp, tangled mess of his hair to hold him still, pushing in a little farther without looking, but he has to hear the sounds and know that Eliot’s struggling. What does it for Parker then is the expression in Eliot’s eyes as he looks up through his lashes, infinitely open, as if this is all he wants. As if he’s never had any masks at all.

When Alec comes he shouts something incoherent, and all those beautiful long arcs of his body pull tight.

There’s an image that’s never left her, from when this thing between them first changed and they had quit pretending doors could stop them—Eliot leaning his shoulder against the tile in the shower and bringing himself to orgasm, his hair curling and dripping into his face, water running down the smooth warm skin of his back. Just before he’d tipped himself over the edge, he had pushed the heel of his hand hard against the darkest of the blue and green bruises on his ribs, closed his eyes, opened his mouth. She’d filed that away. So no one’s surprised later when she pushes down on his shoulder just a little, just where the bullet went through, one of the bullets he took for them. Parker knows the scar tissue there is sensitive because she’s poked at it enough times to catalog it, and he always tries to suppress a smile so she knows it hurts. She knows what she’ll see when she presses there like she means it and looks down into his eyes with a trace of triumph on her face. Eliot gives her what she's looking for, then, makes a strangled rumbling groan deep in his chest and comes all over Alec’s hand and Parker's lower back, and she begins to laugh with joy.


End file.
